


need a little sweetness in my life

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, Hanamaki is his favourite customer, LOTSA PINING, M/M, Matsukawa is a pastry chef, Pining, SASO 2016 Prompt Fill, Sickening Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smell of freshly baked bread, watching his cakes rise, listening to customers endlessly praise his desserts? All that is <i>great</i> but, Matsukawa thinks as he shuffles closer to the counter to greet him, the best thing about his job is the man standing in front of him.</p><p>And he doesn’t even know his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	need a little sweetness in my life

**Author's Note:**

> saso br3 prompt fill for @karahashi
> 
>  
> 
> [aggressively recommends listening to this mix while reading](http://8tracks.com/stellarspaceace/kiss-me-honey)

On the whole, Matsukawa likes to think he’s a pretty smart and level headed kind of guy.

He likes to think that he’s not the type of person who rushes head first into things without thinking about the consequences of his actions.

Which, honestly, is _bullshit_.

Because he clearly _is_ that type of person, because if he _wasn’t_ that type of guy would he be standing uninvited outside the door of one of his favourite customers (aka the guy he’s been crushing on for the last six months) holding a box of freshly made desserts?

Probably not.

And yet here he is, doing exactly that.

So yeah, maybe he’s _not_ as smart or level headed as he likes to think.

 

 

 

As far as Matsukawa is concerned, he has the _greatest_ job on the planet. While others might reserve that claim for careers in medicine or teaching kids or animal welfare or some other equally altruistic job, Matsukawa is sure there’s nothing - absolutely _nothing_ \- better than being a pastry chef.

In his mind there are very few things that can beat walking into the store early on a Monday morning to the sweet, sweet, aroma of freshly baked bread just removed from the oven, or that feeling of satisfaction he feels bubbling up inside him whenever he watches one of his cakes steadily begin to rise, or that feeling of pride he feels when a customer comes back a few days later, gushing over how much they _adored_ one of his hand-crafted desserts, or—

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, nudging Matsukawa out of his reverie with a sharp jab to the stomach as he nods towards the entrance. “Your guy’s here.”

“He’s not _my_ guy,” Matsukawa grumbles, though he knows there’s no point in arguing with him because they’ve been through this charade countless times already and it never ends the way he wants it to. Instead he glances - _nonchalantly_ , like it’s not a big deal - over towards the entrance, and tries not to smile like an idiot (he fails) when he spots a familiar head of light brown, bordering on pink really, hair making its way towards him.

The smell of freshly baked bread, watching his cakes rise, listening to customers endlessly praise his desserts? All that is _great_ but, Matsukawa thinks as he shuffles closer to the counter to greet him, the _best_ thing about his job is the man standing in front of him.

And he doesn’t even know his name.

“Morning,” Matsukawa says politely, trying to school his expression into something a little less ‘ _I’m weirdly ecstatic to see you_ ’ and more ‘ _I’m a professional_ ’ though, judging by the way Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and snorts, he fails terribly. But still, Matsukawa can’t bring himself to care, not when his favourite customer is smiling up at him like _that_. “The usual?”

He laughs - Matsukawa pretends like it _isn’t_ the greatest thing he’s heard all day (it is) - and nods, his cheeks colouring just a little. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Two cream puffs, coming right up.”

 

 

 

He doesn’t mean to develop a crush on the guy who visits their store at least twice a week (often more) to order two of Matsukawa’s freshly made cream puff. It just kind of... _happens_.

One day he’s just an ordinary customer with a penchant for pastry balls filled with whipped cream, indistinguishable from the other customers that find their way into _You Knead This Cake_ every day, and the next thing he knows, Matsukawa finds himself looking _forward_ to his bi-weekly visits. They become the highlight of his week.

He thinks it happens somewhere between the first time he hears him laugh - because it’s truly a wonderful laugh, all warm and raucous, completely unrestrained and so _infectious_ it makes Matsukawa’s lips twitch upwards into a bright grin of his own - and the tenth time (Matsukawa’s not keeping count, he’s not keeping count, he’s _not_ —) Matsukawa watches his eyes light up when he bites into one of the cream puffs, like it’s the first time he’s tasting them and like he _hasn’t_ been coming to their cosy little bakery at _least_ twice a week for the last six months.

By his, admittedly rough, calculations, that’s at _least_ 48 visits.

So that’s 48 times Matsukawa’s had the chance to hear that infectious laugh.

48 times Matsukawa’s got to watch his eyes light up whenever he takes the first bite.

48 times he’s got to hear the pleased little _hum_ he always makes whenever he finishes one of the desserts.

48 times Matsukawa’s had the opportunity to _fall_ just that little bit more for him.

 

 

 

He’s a student. Or, that’s what Matsukawa _thinks_ anyway, especially if the thick textbooks he often has poking out of his satchel or the Styrofoam cup full of coffee he comes in clutching some days like his life depends on it are any indication.

“Why don’t you just _ask_ him?” Iwaizumi sighs, barely glancing up at Matsukawa to shoot him a withering stare, because this too is a conversation they’ve had more times than he can count ever since Matsukawa’s favourite customer became a regular fixture in their store. “Just ask him and stop making _me_ suffer listening to you pine over him.”

“And here I was thinking we were _friends_ ,” Matsukawa says, sticking his tongue out a little at him. “There for each other through thick and thin and all that jazz?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Iwaizumi says, but Matsukawa catches the way his voice softens a little as he turns to glance up at him. Idly, Matsukawa acknowledges that _this_ why they’re such good friends. Because, as much as he pretends it annoys him, Iwaizumi _does_ care about Matsukawa’s, quite frankly, pathetic and so far non-existent love life. “Really, what do you have to lose by just talking to him?”

Matsukawa laughs dryly, his mind immediately running through all the terrible - _life-ruining_ \- scenarios that could possibly happen if he ever tried to speak to his favourite customer beyond their usual ‘ _morning, the usual?’_ and _‘yeah, thanks_ ’. “Just this little thing called my dignity,” Matsukawa sighs, leaning forwards so he can drop his head on the counter with a quiet moan. “What am I supposed to say?”

“ _Well_ ,” Iwaizumi says evenly, and in the background Matsukawa thinks he can hear the faint _ting-a-ling_ of the bell above the door, signalling the arrival of a new customer. “I’m not sure.”

“Fat lot of help you are—”

“But you’d better think of something quickly,” Iwaizumi continues, poking Matsukawa sharply in the sides. “Because, he’s here.”

Matsukawa makes a sound that lies somewhere between a _squawk_ and a ‘ _what the fuck_?’ as he quickly jolts upright, just in time to watch his favourite customer approach the counter.

He mouths a quick ‘ _I hate you_ ’ over in Iwaizumi’s direction, before turning his attention to the man standing in front of him, brows furrowing into a frown when he catches sight of him.

He’s used to seeing him approach with the beginnings of a small smile tugging at his lips, but today his mouth is set into a thin line and he looks _tired_. There are faint bags under his eyes, his hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in a few days, and his shirt isn’t buttoned up properly, all bunched up at the top and too loose at the bottom. Matsukawa allows his gaze to drift over towards the satchel slung over his shoulder, taking in the fact that it seems to be close to bursting at the seams thanks to the number of textbooks squashed tightly inside it.

“Exam season?” he blurts, recoiling a little in embarrassment when he hears Iwaizumi snort and mutter a quiet ‘ _smooth_ ’ beside him.

A silence stretches between them and Matsukawa finds himself praying for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole, but then his lips start to curve upwards into the familiar smile Matsukawa has come to adore, and Matsukawa heaves a small sigh of relief.

“I look that awful, huh?”

“Now _awful_ —” Matsukawa stammers, because _wow_ , the first time you actually talk to the guy and you insult him? _Bad Issei. Stupid Issei_. “Just tired?”

He laughs, and it’s nothing like his _usual_ laugh - the laugh that makes Matsukawa want to laugh too - but it’s nice; a different side to him Matsukawa hasn’t seen before. “One more week and then I’m _free_.” He says it with such conviction, Matsukawa can’t help but grin with him. “You know, the only thing keeping me going are your cream puffs.”

Matsukawa blushes like he’d just complimented his looks and not his desserts. “Uh— Well, when you’re finished, make sure you come around and I’ll make something special.” Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Matsukawa regrets them, because he’s _sure_ that just sounded like a cheesy pick-up line, and now he’s never going to want to talk to him again and—

“ _Really_ ?” His eyes light up the way they do when he first bites into one of the desserts, and Matsukawa allows himself the delusion that maybe he _hasn’t_ ruined this (this being his pathetic attempt at getting to know him) with his utter lack of flirting ability. “I’ll hold you to that, you know?”

“Really,” Matsukawa nods, noting the way his smile is slowly growing into something that looks more like the smile Matsukawa is used to seeing etched across his face. “But for today, just the usual?”

He hesitates, like he wants to say something else and deviate from their tried and tested routine, but apparently he decides better of it. “That’d be awesome, thanks.”

Matsukawa nods and shuffles over towards the pastry counter. “Two cream puffs, coming right up.” And if he slips a third one into the box - a _good luck_ cream puff of sorts - then that can stay between just them, can’t it?

When he leaves the store five minutes later, box of two cream puffs (plus one) tucked underneath his arm and after he gives Matsukawa another reminder that he expects him to keep his promise about _something special_ , Iwaizumi turns to face him, quirking a brow as he folds his arms tightly across his chest. “You didn’t even ask him his _name_.”

“Baby steps,” Matsukawa mutters, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “Baby steps.”

 

 

 

He spends the following week feverishly flipping through recipe books and scrolling through blogs into the early hours of the morning and using Iwaizumi as his personal taster whenever they get a break between customers.

In hindsight, _this_ is Matsukawa's first indication that this has morphed from simply being just a harmless crush on the guy who pops into his store every now and then, into something a little _more_.

 

 

 

True to his word, he comes by a week later, bounding through the entrance with all the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete just awarded a gold model.

He's not alone either.

Matsukawa watches curiously as he tugs someone else through the door with him, before making a beeline towards the counter, grin wide and eyes bright as he approaches. His companion - friend? roommate? brother? _partner_? - slowly trails after him, curiously glancing around the store at they inch further in.

"I'm _finished_ ," he says heavily, leaning against the counter to grin up at Matsukawa. "After four years of endless torture, I'm _finished_."

"Congrats," Matsukawa grins - because _damn it_ , his smile is so _infectious_ \- fingers nervously tapping the box hidden from view. "How'd they go? Are you on your way to become the best doctor, or lawyer or whatever it is you're studying?"

He laughs (and Matsukawa decides his laughs should come with a warning. Something like: _Please be warned you're about to feel a funny warm sensation in your stomach. Effects may last for up to 24 hours_ ) and shakes his head. "Engineering. But no exam talk please, I just want to forget all about them."

His friend watches their exchange curiously, chin dropped delicately into the palm of his hand as he glances up at them.

" _Now_ ," he wiggles his eyebrows and leans even closer towards him. "I believe _someone_ mentioned something about a _special treat_."

His friend's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, but Matsukawa ignores it in favour of nervously lifting up the box by his side. He hesitates for a moment before sliding the box across the counter. "If they don't taste nice, it's not for lack of trying."

"I don't think you're capable of making anything that doesn't taste nice to me."

This time, his friend makes an ' _ooooh?_ ' sound and begins tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter. Matsukawa stubbornly ignores him and focuses his attention on watching as his favourite customer opens the box and peeks inside. "They're _champagne_ flavoured," Matsukawa clarifies quickly, watching as he plucks one of the desserts from the box and spins it between two fingers. "Celebratory cream puffs."

" _Alright_ ," his friend says loudly, slamming a hand on the counter as he leans forward and peers at them both suspiciously. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Makki?"

 _Makki_.

Now, it could be a trick of the light or it could be something else entirely, but Matsukawa is _sure_ Makki(?) blushes at this.

"I ah—" He pauses and Matsukawa _swoons_ because yep, that is _definitely_ a blush. "I don't actually _know_ your name," he says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. "Which is really— _Wow._ Which is really rude, huh?"

"It's Matsukawa."

" _Matsukawa_ ," he repeats it slowly, _thoughtfully_ , almost _reverently -_ and Matsukawa thinks that the way his heart skips a beat when he hears him say it might be his second indication that this isn't just a silly crush anymore - before he sticks a hand out across the counter. "I'm Hanamaki."

Matsukawa hesitates for a fraction of a second before he leans forward and grips Hanamaki's hand in his own (it fits nicely). "Nice to meet you Hanamaki."

"And _I'm_ Oikawa," his friend says loudly, clearing his throat and nudging their hands apart so he can grip Matsukawa’s himself. He pauses for a moment, giving Matsukawa a once over before he allows his lips to spread into an easy, but careful, grin. "Best friend _extraordinaire._ "

 

 

 

He wonders if he's imagining it, or maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he _thinks_ Hanamaki's visits start to get more frequent after that.

Oikawa too for that matter, once he comes in one afternoon and Iwaizumi is working the till (' _Iwa-chan_ —' _'Iwa-chan?!' '—You make the best milk bread, Iwa-chan, has anyone ever told you that?_ ' ‘ _Iwa-chan?!_ ’), but Matsukawa doesn't have time to dwell on whatever the hell is happening _there_ , not when Hanamaki is steadily becoming a daily fixture in his life.

He starts staying longer too. Matsukawa can't count the number of times he's glanced over his shoulder to find Hanamaki squashed up in one of their ratty old armchairs flipping lazily through a book or listening to music as he watches the hustle and bustle of the store. Sometimes they catch each others eye and - _again_ , Matsukawa wonders if he's imagining it - Hanamaki _smiles_. But it's not his usual smile, the one Matsukawa's learnt to recognise like it were his very own. It's a smaller smile, slight and subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who isn't looking for it.

It feels like a secret smile, one reserved for him and him alone, and Matsukawa loves it.

 

 

 

He’s not _worried_ per se, it’s just—

“It’s been a _week_ ,” Matsukawa groans, startling a customer as he hurries past the counter clutching a loaf of bread tightly against her chest. “A whole _week_. That’s seven days. 168 hours. Ten thousand minutes. Six hundred and—”

“I get it” Iwaizumi says loudly, cutting across Matsukawa with a glare. “You’re _worried_.”

“I’m not worried. I’m—” He pauses, brows furrowing just a little as he reflects on his actions over the last few hours. “Alright. Maybe I’m a little worried.”

“You’re squeezing that éclair so hard, it exploded about four minutes ago and you didn’t even notice.”

Matsukawa glances down at his sticky hand and the destroyed pastry in it. “You may have a point.”

Iwaizumi snorts and chucks him a couple napkins. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just did what I said and asked for his number. You know, like a normal person.”

“Yes, yes,” Matsukawa sighs. “You’re always right and I’m always wrong, I _know_. I bow down to the ultimate wisdom of Iwaizumi Hajime. It’s just—”

“You’re worried.”

Matsukawa nods. “I’m worried.”

In the many months he’s known Hanamaki, he’s never known him _not_ to visit the store at least twice in one week. So the fact that he hasn’t seen him in seven days (and counting) is more than a little alarming.

“What if he’s _dead_ ?” Matsukawa asks, ignoring the way Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and mumbles something about him being _‘way too dramatic_ ’. “What if something happened to him? What if he _moved_ ?” Matsukawa pauses. “Oh shit. Iwaizumi? What if he _moved_?”

Iwaizumi runs a tired hand down his face. "I really dou—"

"Then back to the first point, what if he's _dead_. What if I never see him again?"

"Have you _always_ been this melodramatic?" Iwaizumi asks. "Or is it just something you reserve for when we're alone together, presumably to help further your never-ending quest of driving me insane?"

"Iwaiz—" Matsukawa freezes, eyes wide as spots a familiar head of light brown hair hurrying past the store through the window. " _Oikawa_." He ignores the way Iwaizumi's head snaps up at the mention of Oikawa's name (and files it away for later teasing material), and ducks out from behind the counter, barely caring that he's still wearing his flour stained apron as he _sprints_ out of the store to catch Oikawa hurrying down the road.

He catches Oikawa before he turns a corner, yanking him backwards by the tail end of his coat to make him stop.

"Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, frowning a little as he waits for Matsukawa to catch his breath. "Are you— Is everything alright?"

Matsukawa nods, trying to act like this _isn't_ the weirdest thing he's done in a while. "Yeah, yeah, everything's _fine_ ," he says casually, hoping he sounds as nonchalant as he thinks he does. "Just saw you walking past the shop and thought I'd come and say hi and see how things are."

Oikawa hums, clever eyes flashing with something Matsukawa can't quite pinpoint as he peers down at him. "Is that so?"

" _Yep_ ," Matsukawa lies cheerfully. "So. How are... _things_."

Oikawa's lip twitches a little. "Things are fine, thank you. How are _things_ with you."

"Peachy. Just _peachy_."

"Well," Oikawa tips his head, lips still twitching upwards into a sly little smile as he moves to turn away. "I've really got to be going, so—" He blinks pointedly at Matsukawa.

"Don't make me say it."

"Don't make you say _what,_ Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, voice dripping with faux innocence. Matsukawa briefly considers shoving him into the road.

"You know what. Just— Just tell me where he is."

"Where _who_ is?"

"Has anyone ever told you, you're insufferable?"

"Insufferably _handsome_ , yes," Oikawa grins, inching a little closer to Matsukawa. "Now Mattsun, if you have something you want to say, you should just spit it out."

"Where's Hanamaki?" Matsukawa mumbles, pretending like he can't feel the way he cheeks have begun to heat up. "I haven't seen him in a while, so I was— I was just wondering if maybe—"

"You were _worried_ ," Oikawa says brightly, either completely oblivious to the pink hue on Matsukawa's cheek, or just thoroughly enjoying seeing it (Matsukawa thinks it's more likely to be the latter). "Right?"

Matsukawa scowls at him. "Are you enjoying this?"

" _Immensely_ ," Oikawa laughs, draping a friendly arm over Matsukawa's shoulder. "Now, and you didn't hear this from me, alright?" He brings his head closer to Matsukawa's to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. "Makki is _sick_. Like, can barely crawl out of bed without puking all over the place kind of sick. I don't think he's left his bed for about three days."

Matsukawa winces, feeling a surge of sympathy for his favourite customer. Though he can't help but feel a _tiny_ bit pleased the actual reason for Hanamaki's absence isn't something more serious.

(Like death or, even worse, _what if he moved_?)

"Yeah," Oikawa continues. "I think he's over the worst of it now but, do you know what would _really_ help him recover?"

His voice turns sly and Matsukawa can _sense_ he's about to fall into a trap. "What?"

Oikawa's grin widens. "Some of his _favourite_ desserts from his _favourite_ baker. Now," he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder who that could be?”

“Insufferable,” Matsukawa repeats. “Absolutely insufferable.”

 

 

 

And _that_ is how Matsukawa finds himself standing outside Hanamaki's door - address courtesy of a meddling Oikawa - three hours later, clutching a box of freshly made cream puffs in one hand, while the other hovers frozen and poised to knock mid-air.

So yeah, he's really _not_ the smartest of most level-headed guy in the world because this is, unequivocally, the dumbest thing he's ever done before, because:

a) It's just _creepy_ , right? Turning up at your favourite customer slash crush's door unannounced? (Even if his best friend _did_ give you his address and practically shove you in the right direction).

and

b) Cream puffs aren't even a good get well food! In fact, Matsukawa thinks they might serve the exact _opposite_ purpose of making someone feel better.

He blames Oikawa wholeheartedly and, when this is all over, he vows to make him pay. But right now he as bigger problems. Namely, the stupid situation he's gotten himself into (which, he reminds himself for the nth time, is _entirely_ Oikawa's fault).

He could just turn back right now and pretend like this never happened. He _should_ do just that. In fact, he _is_ going to do just that. Matsukawa nods to himself and takes a step backwards. He'll never have to know. _Nobody_ will have to know. Except Oikawa, but Matsukawa thinks he could buy his silence with Iwaizumi's milk bread, so _that's_ not really a problem. He takes another step backwards, about to whirl around and quickly run down the corridor when the door opens.

Of course it does.

Of-fucking- _course_ it does.

Hanamaki looks _awful_ . His skin is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his _voice_? "Matsukawa?" It's all hoarse and croaky and Matsukawa wants nothing more than to shoo him back to his bedroom and tuck him into bed and order him not to leave until he's feeling better.

Sadly, his body doesn't agree with him.

Instead of saying anything to this effect, he just _stares_ . He doesn't even say 'hi', he just _stares_.

Hanamaki coughs. "My neighbour...she messaged me to tell me some weirdo was standing outside my door."

Matsukawa silently curses the neighbour.

"Is—" Another cough. "Is everything alright?"

See, _now_ would be a good time to come clean and tell him that he was worried that he hadn't seen him in a few days and Oikawa had been _gracious_ enough to let him know his address, so he thought he'd pop over and check how he was doing and make sure he was safe and not burning up, because he's a _good_ friend, a _thoughtful_ friend, and—

"For you," Matsukawa blurts instead, shoving the box of cream puffs into Hanamaki's chest. "They're for you."

And then - and this is where it _really_ gets bad, as if it wasn’t bad enough already - he turns on his heel and _runs_.

And he doesn't _stop_ running until he's home.

 

 

 

“I didn’t say _anything_ ,” Matsukawa groans, dropping his head onto the counter with a loud _thud_ . He ignores the dull throbbing sensation he can feel building up around his temples and groans again. “I just _blinked_ at him, stuffed the box in his hands and _ran_.”

Iwaizumi winces.

“ _Yeah_ . Didn’t even look back to see how he reacted. _Ugh_ ,” he groans again. “Just bury me now, get it over and done with—” He hears the chime of the bell above the door, signalling a new customer entering the store, but he ignores it. “My life is over. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve embarrassed myself too much.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Iwaizumi says, and Matsukawa _thinks_ he can hear a faint note of amusement in his tone. “You’ve definitely embarrassed yourself—”

“Have I ever told you what a _great_ friend you are?”

“—But,” Iwaizumi continues, poking Matsukawa sharply in the side. “I’m willing to bet you haven’t ruined everything.”

Realisation dawns over Matsukawa. “ _No_.”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says firmly, poking him a little harder this time. “Get _up_.”

His stomach _drops_ as he stands upright and catches sight of Hanamaki shooting him a halfhearted wave. “ _No_ .” He moves to whirl around, possibly to run into the backroom to hide, possibly to run _home_ and hide, but Iwaizumi gives him a subtle, yet firm, shove towards the door.

“ _Traitor_ ,” Matsukawa hisses, glaring at Iwaizumi before he reluctantly shuffles towards Hanamaki, already anticipating the worst.

“Hey,” Hanamaki says as Matsukawa approaches. Though, thanks to his cold, it ends up sounding a lot more like ‘ _Bey_ ’.

“Should you be out of your house?” Matsukawa asks, momentarily forgetting his distress in favour of peering over Hanamaki in concern. He looks better than he had the previous day, but he still looks ill and like he hasn’t had a real night’s sleep in a while. “You look—”

“I look like shit,” Hanamaki laughs, voice still hoarser than Matsukawa is used to hearing. “I know. I just— I wanted to give you something.” He bites his bottom lip, looking like he’s steeling himself for something, before he takes a step forwards and shoves a piece of paper into Matsukawa’s hands.

“Wha—”

“I talk to you later,” Hanamaki says quickly, cheeks pinker than Matsukawa has ever seen before (though if that’s due to his illness or something _else_ , Matsukawa isn’t sure) as he turns on his heel and _dashes_ out of the store, without glancing back.

“What the hell? You’re _both_ idiots,” Iwaizumi snorts, shaking his head in dismay as he watches Matsukawa slink back behind the counter, gaze fixated on the small slip of paper in his hands. “What’d he give you.”

“Nothing,” Matsukawa mumbles, lips twitching upwards into a smile as he unravels the paper and allows his gaze to roam over the message printed over it in a neat scrawl. “Nothing, nothing.” Still grinning, he stuffs the piece of paper into his apron pocket and turns to face Iwaizumi. “Now, let’s talk about _you_ and _Oikawa_.”

 

 

 

 

As soon as he drops into his bed when he gets home later that evening, Matsukawa whips out the piece of paper and his phone, squinting between the two as he types out a quick message.

 **hey, it’s matsukawa.** **  
** **how’re you feeling?**

The reply comes almost instantaneously.

 **_hey, much better now :)_ ** **_  
_ ** **_even better if you come round again with some more of those cream puffs from the other day ;)_ **

Matsukawa laughs, sinking further into his bed as his phone vibrates and lights up again and again and again—

**Author's Note:**

> *keep your bonus round fills short, keep them short, keep them sh—*
> 
> lmao i hope my maths was right for the 48 times bit...i'm...still...not......sure.........


End file.
